


Aerial Hearts

by Onyx_Stars



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Lance and Allura are besties and no one can convince me otherwise, M/M, Pole Dancing, not in the sexy way but in the fun sporty way, pole dance au, technically more of a gym AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-12
Updated: 2018-12-12
Packaged: 2019-09-17 04:32:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16967748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Onyx_Stars/pseuds/Onyx_Stars
Summary: Lance is not happy that his pole dancing group has to move from their (very nice) studio into a (very average) gym. Keith is not happy about all the changes at his gym. Hunk is not sure when going to the gym turned into a mess of Feelings™.{AU that has been coming ever since Lance performed on aerial silks in s4, fun and light and with only some drama as everyone sorts out their feelings}





	Aerial Hearts

**Author's Note:**

> If you're stressed out by life and 3 ongoing fics and to deal with the stress you start another fic, clap your hands! *clap clap*
> 
> Not gonna lie I've been working on this (and about 7 other pole dance AUs) for forever, but [gappylulu](https://gappylulu.tumblr.com/) kicked my ass into gear so that this could finally be written. I know there are a lot of amazing pole dance AUs out there that involve some loaded themes, but this one is more based on my own experiences with the sport, so it's all the light-hearted fun =)  
> I can claim accuracy for the things Lance and Allura do with the poles, hoops & silks, as well as for Keith's karate, but please do not look too closely at what I say about gyms. Never been to one. It's all pulled off google and what gappylulu told me :')
> 
> Bit of a rush job and some typos might have to be fixed later, but I was really excited to bring this out before the last season hits on Friday. Have fun! ;D

“I don’t like this new place,” Lance mutters petulantly as they walk inside. “It’s ugly.”

“Lance,” Allura’s admonishment comes promptly. She pushes her end of the pole forward and it hits him in the chest dead-on. He wheezes. “We’ve been over this a hundred times. We both know the old place sucked, and it’s really fortunate that Coran could make space for us in this gym.”

“But ‘Lion’s Castle’ is such a cheesy name, and I don’t like it here,” Lance grunts anyway, as if it isn’t something that he as stated numerous times before. He has. Just about ten seconds ago.

They both nod towards Matt as they pass by the reception desk, but it seems he has lost all interest in them. To be fair, they have walked through at least two dozen times already, carrying all their things in. The chairs and silks and hoops, their mats and yoga blocks, the small towels and sprays for cleaning, and everything else that has been deemed important enough to not get crammed into Allura’s tiny basement. They’re finally on the last pole.

That hasn’t made the narrow hallways any easier to navigate, though, and they get stuck at the corner just like they did every time so far. The same muscled-up dude bro from the free weights area who’s been staring at them the whole time starts snickering at them yet again. Even as Lance struggles to get the pole upright enough to make the corner, he expends the effort of sticking out his tongue at the guy.

“It was only us at the old studio,” he laments wistfully. “None of these jerks.”

“They’ll either get used to us or we will yell at them until they behave,” Allura shoots his complaint down without batting an eye.

They heave and shove until the pole is almost scratching the ceiling, Allura stretched up high on her tiptoes and Lance crouched low on the ground to keep the stupid, heavy thing balanced. With awkward little steps they shuffle forward, first into the next hallway and then into the studio which has been so graciously granted to them.

It’s studio 2, because it’s smaller.

It sucks.

All the things they’ve carried in before are already piled up—their other seven poles, boxes with tools, and a ladder. The rest has been shoved into the storage room.

Installing the poles in this studio by mounting them to the ceiling is going to be a horrible mess. Lance knows because taking them off the previous ceiling was already insanely difficult, and back then gravity was helping them. They didn’t have to find places for where to put everything up, either. Now they have to map out the best spots for the poles, then for the clasps to put them up, and then the for mountings of the hoops as well. And all of it needs to be planned carefully, so people won’t accidentally knock into something while they’re up in the air or bring down the ceiling on them.

It demands some careful consideration and sketching out approximate positions. Drawing chalk circles is hard. Lance was not born to be an artist.

“All these regular sports people will throw a hissy fit about us,” he grumbles, drawing his prettiest, crooked egg shape. “I just know it.”

“They’ll get used to us,” Allura sighs heavily behind him. But if the angry squeak of her chalk against the ground is any indication, she’s not too happy about their move, either.

Lance knows she isn’t. It wasn’t her choice that the landlord of the old studio jacked up the rent to force them out. That studio was home for both of them. A place where they could go when things got tough, to feel free and happy for a while.

Now they lost it.

They’re lucky that Allura’s uncle Coran had this space for them, Lance knows that. And since Hunk works out at this gym, they can drive here and spend more time together, which Lance really looks forward to. It’s not _all_ bad. He just—he still needs to get used to it.

“I’ll miss that stupid column right in the middle of the room,” he grouses. More melancholy sneaks into his tone than intended, and it softens Allura up a little.

“I know.” She squeaks another circle onto the floor. “It was great for learning to stay aware of your surroundings.”

Lance draws his next squiggly egg onto the unblemished, wooden floorboards. No one had gouged scratches into these with their heels yet. He guesses they’ll have to fix that. “Yeah. And I saw the toilets here earlier! The seats don’t glitter, the towels aren’t pink, and the soap isn’t the fancy flower stuff, either.”

“Lance, what are you expecting from the men’s toilet at a gym?” Allura asks him dryly.

He shudders. “Don’t say that out loud! I’m still trying to ignore that we won’t have the same restroom and changing room anymore! Who the fuck thought we had to separate these things by gender? I’ll be stuck with dirty, stinking animals!”

“I pity you,” Allura says, voice flat. “Deeply.”

Lance sticks out his tongue at her. “Yeah, rub it in that you get to be with the clean, pretty people.”

Her chuckle is light and tinkling, and very mean. Lance goes back to drawing his eggs, occasionally checking if they’re far enough apart. It is—maybe—a little easier to place these when there isn’t a giant, useless column standing right in the middle of the room, but like hell he’s going to admit that out loud.

“I still worry what the other people here will think of us,” he mutters quietly. It’s not _only_ for the purpose of whining. It’s something that’s been bothering him. “We don’t exactly fit in here. I don’t know much about regular sports people, but I’ve heard they wear shoes for their sports. Without heels!”

Allura gasps in exaggerated shock, her hand covering her mouth. “You don’t say!”

Lance has to snicker, but he still has his point. “Yes, terrible, right? And they don’t listen to Beyoncé while they work out, either.” He stops drawing his eggs for a moment, staring down at the ground. It looks like the poles and mountings will all fit this way. But that means they can start screwing them in now, and that means they will really stay here.

That means they’re really not going back.

“Do you think we can still have sleepovers here sometimes?” he asks, tensing up when it comes out barely above a whisper. His eyes sting unexpectedly, and he hastily wipes his at his face. Has to be sweat. Lance hasn’t even noticed how taxing it had been to—draw bad circles onto the floor.

“Lance.” Allura is right next to him with a gentle touch to his shoulder. “I know.”

Lance can’t say anything, because he’s afraid of how his voice will come out.

They sit like that, in silence, until Allura hesitantly clears her throat. “You know Coran considers us both family. I’m sure he’ll let us have a few sleepovers every now and then.”

“I hope so,” Lance grumbles and his voice cracks only a little. Straightening up, he stretches out his arms and makes an effort to get his shit back together. “I still hate it here, though. Have you seen that building site across the street? What an ugly ruin. And who even builds a gym across from another gym!”

His renewed complaints have Allura laughing, maybe relieved but certainly amused. He continues to point out everything that sucks—who needs indoor bicycles when they could just go outside, there’s a ladies only room and what does that say about the behavior of men in this place, and while they’re at it, has Allura _smelled_ the men’s changing room because it’s a nightmare come to life—while they readjust two of the chalk circles and then get to work setting up the poles.

It takes forever until all eight poles are properly mounted to the ceiling and screwed in securely, and then it’s another hassle to put up the remaining hooks so they can put up everything they need. By the time they’re done Lance is actually sweating and his shoulders are terribly sore. At some point he somehow managed to smear grime on his hands and had to wash it off with scent-neutral soap, then dry his hands with scratchy paper towels. Allura gets to hear his thoughts on that _at length_.

But then they’re done, and the poles are all perfectly upright, shining in the light. With all their other equipment crammed into the store room, the only thing left is one box with their last flyers, to lure in beginners for the new classes. Lance hopes a lot of people will show up tomorrow.

Maybe, once this empty room is filled with people, pop music blaring from the speakers they brought, the floor scratched up and forever covered with glitter, this place will feel like more of a home.

“We should put up some more flyers,” Allura suggests, pulling over the box because she never gets tired. Lance has suspected some form of superhuman strength or magic behind it for years.

“More work?” he whines, but grabs the box anyway. “Isn’t it bad enough that we had to do this all by ourselves because Nyma didn’t have time?”

“Not everyone can spend their Sunday setting up a new studio,” Allura tuts. “Let Nyma have a life.”

“Nyma’s life should involve taking on some of the work,” Lance huffs petulantly. He opens the cardboard box to peek in. He might be a little curious, because it was actually Nyma and Allura who put up the flyers so far and he hasn’t gotten to see them yet.

The picture on them is one of Allura, and as always it’s stunning. Her face is almost hidden, shifting the focus to her twisted pose. With her back arched impossibly, she’s grasping her almost straight leg in both hands, the other one bent to hold some of her weight. Lance knows the trick, knows that it’s also her hip and arm holding her up, but even so it looks like she’s ignoring gravity entirely to stay up like this.

“An emotioncatcher?” he asks with equal parts disbelief and adoration. It’s one of Allura’s favorite moves. “With something this advanced on the flyers, you’re going to scare people off instead of making them curious.”

“It’s not like I straightened my leg all the way,” Allura points out with a sharp smile as she takes out one of the flyers to pin it up with all the other ones in the entrance room.

Lance sighs because that doesn’t make the trick look any less impressive. It always looks impossible, as if there should be no way for anyone to twist their body like that at all, let alone while staying up in the air. But Allura does it like it’s nothing.

It’s another reason why Lance suspects her to be capable of magic. Even after knowing her for years, he still sometimes has to rearrange his understanding of physics to adjust for the amazing things she can do.

Matt gives them a thumbs-up as they put more flyers on the walls. Allura hands one to him, and she and Lance quietly chuckle to each other as Matt halfheartedly glances down to it, then does a double take.

Maybe with all the regular sports people around, they will at least have ample opportunities to show off their skills. That’s a small comfort.

Lance tries to keep that in mind when people stare at them as they put more flyers up by the cardio equipment and the strange workout machines that look as if they fell out of a bad sci-fi movie. The same guy from before whistles at them, and Lance glares at him until he backs off with a condescending chuckle.

“Asshole,” he hisses under his breath.

Allura pats his shoulder as they head back. “I chased off the assholes in our old studio and I will do it here. The floor is all straight. I can finally hunt them down in my heels.”

“I can’t wait to see you demolish them,” he grumbles sourly, while shooting a grim look at the guy.

Another one of Allura’s pats soothes him as they head back to their new studio.

Looking at the results of all their work, Lance can’t deny that he’s a little proud. Maybe. He perks up even more when Allura leans in with a playful grin. “You know, Lance, after we set up the poles, I really feel like it’s our responsibility to check that they’re good to use.”

Lance blinks at her, surprised. Then the offer registers. He nudges her with his own conspiratorial grin. “You are absolutely right! And we really should check if the speakers work, too.”

Allura nods. “Yes, yes. Why, what a fortunate thing that I brought some pole clothes with me.”

“Oh, Allura,” Lance gasps, dramatically clutching his chest. “Would you believe that coincidentally, I brought mine, too!”

They giggle to each other, before their impatience drives them apart. To different changing rooms, which sucks. Having one room for everyone was nice. Like this, Lance is all by his lonesome. And it still reeks. He keeps that in mind to complain about later.

Allura is already waiting for him with a mirthful smile when he gets back to the studio—studio 2, the smaller one, which sucks. Allura is wearing a pretty lavender set that Lance knows is one of her favorites. She tugs at his shorts with an arched brow, because she knows it’s one of the pairs he hates.

He was very determined have today suck, so what.

But when he and Allura slide into familiar double tricks and dance and laugh as the evening wears on, Lance finds that it maybe— _maybe_ —sucks a little less than he expected it to.

Maybe, despite the shitty people and everything being different, this place can become a home, too.

 

* * *

 

It’s a very nice Sunday evening and it reminds Hunk how—technically—everything in his life is going great.

No, really. He was so worried about moving away from his family but he’s dealing with it better than expected. His first courses at college are challenging and a lot of work, but he’s found a schedule for himself that lets him get everything done and still leaves him with some free time. Enough time to start working out again, even, which is something he had to give up on at the end of high school. Getting back into it has been great, and he’s found a gym where people are nice and don’t give him shit. He has also found a nice apartment to live in and two very great people to share it with. There’s Pidge, who is smart as a whip, always up for his tech talk, and reasonable enough to keep him from sinking too deep into his anxiety. And then there’s Lance.

Lance is hard to sum up. Lance is always excited for something, always smiling like literal sunshine, always brimming with an infective energy that pulls Hunk along into having fun. Lance is kind and open and has somehow sparked an amazing friendship between the three of them. After only a few short months it already feels as if they’ve known each other for years. Lance is loud and boisterous at times, but he can be quiet when it becomes too much for Hunk. Lance has a brightness to him that Hunk can’t put into words. Lance has Hunk’s heart beating faster whenever he thinks too much about him, and it doesn’t help that Lance is stunningly graceful and handsome and flaunts it at every opportunity.

And Lance is also, as Hunk knows without a doubt, in a very involved, BDSM-ish relationship with some woman named Allura.

Hunk has seen her once, built slim and tall and perfect, with a slight bulge of muscle to her form. Bright blue eyes, beautiful dark skin, snow-white hair cascading down her back like a cloud. Hunk knows that he stands no chance against someone like that.

That’s why technically everything is great, but also it’s not.

It’s really not.

Because Hunk is already too deep into these _feelings_ for Lance, and now that Lance’s sports class has moved into Hunk’s gym, they’ll be squeezed into his small car three to four times a week. All that time, just the two of them talking and laughing and enjoying each other’s company, and then they’ll get to the gym and Lance will run off to have fun with _Allura_.

Hunk doesn’t begrudge Lance that happiness. He really doesn’t. He knows he can’t compare to Allura in any way, and even if he could, he’d be years too late. Those two were together long before Hunk ever stepped foot into Lance’s life. And Lance is happy this way, which is good enough for Hunk.

It’s just sometimes difficult to keep that in mind when Lance is showing off everything that he and Allura get up to together. That’s the whole reason why Hunk figured out they were involved in _something_ in the first place, a fact that Pidge is still not fully convinced of.

The thing is, Hunk knows that Lance is doing pole dancing with Allura. Sure, it was a surprise at first, but a sport like that really fits Lance who loves basking in other people’s attention. And sure, Pidge is right that this maybe explains _some_ of the skimpy outfits Lance picks out when he’s meeting Allura, some of the time he spends in the bathroom getting ready, and some of the hours he’s out late at night with her.

But does it explain why Lance gets home in the middle of the night and complains about how sore his ass is? Does it explain the bruises that Hunk has seen on his knees and peeking out of shorts, scattered over his hips and all the way up on his inner thighs? Does it explain the glitter in those very same places, or the scratches up on Lance’s shoulders? Does it explain the time Hunk asked and a very tired Lance grunted something about kisses into the couch cushions, another bruise peeking out of his shirt right above his collarbone? Does it explain the actual, literal handprint Hunk once saw on Lance’s ass as Lance changed unabashedly in front of him, out of thin lace shorts to boot?

Hunk does not think so.

It’s a lost cause. He doesn’t know what else he expected, or why he ever indulged that one short spark of hope when his very attractive new roommate put up a bi pride flag in his room. Of course someone as beautiful as Lance would date someone as beautiful as Allura.

It stings, but it’s none of Hunk’s business. He’s not one of those assholes who complains about being friendzoned or makes his own hurt feelings other people’s problem. Lance is allowed to see whoever he wants, and if Hunk occasionally asks about it or tries to find out more, that’s just—out of concern.

Good, commendable, friendly concern.

Because, really, the number of bruises on Lance is been worrying at times. Not only to Hunk’s repressed envy, but also in terms of _those are entirely too many bruises for “sports”_. And Hunk knows that unhealthy relationship dynamics are not limited to men mistreating women, so it’s really the only responsible thing he can do to snoop. Occasionally. Just a little.

Fine, so maybe his envy contributed to that choice a little, but mostly it’s concern. Hunk would never want Lance to see someone who treats him badly or hurts him—against his will. This caveat has been added because despite all the bruises and complaints about sore body parts, Lance is always radiating happiness when he returns from doing “sports” with Allura. And suspicious bruises aside, Hunk hasn’t found any other hints that Allura would be mistreating him so far.

Hunk’s careful searching has yielded him nothing more than Lance gushing about Allura, a lot of pictures of them that Lance keeps in a separate folder on his phone, a lot of very delicate clothing with lace and ruffles and straps, and one day Hunk has literally stumbled over a leather collar in Lance’s room. When Lance got home that day, he just picked it up unabashedly and wondered out loud if Allura still had the leash and crop.

So, all this evidence Hunk has compiled has left him with only one inevitable conclusion: a very involved, very BDSM-ish relationship. There really isn’t any other explanation. Except maybe if they’re part of some secret underground fight club in fetish wear, but a relationship seems like the much more likely option.

An admittedly brutal relationship, judging by all the marks left on Lance’s skin, but not in a way that Lance dislikes. And who is Hunk to judge other people’s somewhat violent sex lives, when it leaves Lance so happy?

Lance deserves happiness. It’s none of Hunk’s business who he’s with and what they get up to. Hunk won’t speak out about this obvious involvement if Lance is apparently getting what he wants out of it.

Circling back to that conclusion, however, doesn’t lessen the sting when Lance gets back home a bit later, mouth stretched wide in a grin and another bruise blooming on his neck that Hunk knows for a fact wasn’t there this morning.

“Hey,” Lance greets him brightly, throwing his bag into his room before flopping down on the couch next to Hunk. Very close, but not quite touching. “Can’t believe it took so long to set everything up. Have to admit, though, we got a bit sidetracked testing it all out. And then clean-up took a lot longer than expected. I’m so tired, I don’t think I’m getting up again. What’re you watching?”

Hunk swallows despite his dry mouth and makes an effort to finally look away from the purple smudge on Lance’s throat. His gaze settles on the TV which he hasn’t consciously looked at in a while, leaving him with no idea what’s playing. It looks like some kind of generic drama. “Don’t know, I kind of dozed off for a while. So we’re going to drive to the gym together tomorrow, just as planned?”

Lance nods enthusiastically. “Yeah! Can’t wait to finally get to my classes with a car, like a civilized person.”

Hunk’s smile feels brittle on his face as he directs it at Lance. He hopes his hesitancy doesn’t show. After all, he _is_ happy they can spend more time together now. He really is. “Yeah, it’ll be fun,” he agrees and leans back, a bit further away from Lance. Luckily, Lance doesn’t seem to notice.

Hunk takes a deep breath and tells himself to relax. More time with Lance is good. They are great friends and that’s enough, and at some point Hunk will get used to all the marks Allura keeps leaving on Lance’s skin, and that the happy little sigh that leaves Lance as he sinks back into the couch will never be for him.

It’s fine. It will have to be fine.

Hunk really hopes it will be fine, because everything is so great, technically, and he really doesn’t want to lose any of it. Lance’s friendship means so much to him, and there’s no way in hell Hunk will risk it for a completely hopeless chance at romance.

He just has to keep that in mind, and then the sting in his heart will go away eventually. Right?

 

* * *

 

Usually, karate practice helps Keith relax and find some calm.

During a good workout, he can be focused on the moment, the stress of his life falling away as all he needs to think about is his body and how it moves. The push and pull of his muscles going through well-practiced movements, his mind fully aware of himself and his partner, taking in every hint of what they will do next and how to respond accordingly. How to block and side-step an incoming attack, and how to counter. It’s strenuous, of course. The instant release of speed and power doesn’t come without effort, and the low stances are meant to be taxing in order to build up strength and stamina. Keith always leaves sweaty and a bit sore, but nevertheless karate helps him get blissfully centered like few other things do.

But not today.

It’s hard to find his calm when throughout the entire hour there’s an awfully grating bass pounding in his skull from the next room over.

It has Keith less serene and focused, and more annoyed with a headache as he leaves the studio to head to the changing rooms. The dull music gets quieter on his detour to check on Shiro, which is a small blessing.

On Mondays, when they do mostly partner practice, Shiro doesn't join him for karate but instead works out by himself, and since it's all at the same gym, they can comfortably get home together in Shiro's car once training is over. Or, well, they _could_ , if Shiro was already done with his workout. Ever since Matt started manning the reception desk, Shiro usually ends up chatting with him for far too long and then is still mid-workout by the time Keith is done.

Today, it's the same. Shiro is still sitting at one of the leg press machines, giving Keith a wave and a sheepish smile as he passes by. Keith sighs.

He can take a shower here and then wait for Shiro to finish up, as always, but with his current headache and sour mood he was really hoping that he could get home right away. Just his luck. Maybe he should start bringing along a book to this.

At least it shouldn’t be too much longer, provided Shiro doesn't get caught up in anything else. Keith will physically drag him past Matt on the way out if he has to. He wants to get somewhere nice and quiet, away from the distant pumping beats that get louder again as he enters the changing room.

Impatiently he pulls at his belt, frowning at how stupidly tight he tied the knot today and so caught up in it that he only notices the guy standing in his way by the time he's almost run him over.

 _Almost_ being the key word, because there’s a loud yelp, and Keith swerves to the side awkwardly at the last second, avoiding collision.

"Hey, watch where you're going," the guy snaps at him, and Keith wants to shoot back that it's kind of the guy's own fault for standing right in the middle of the room and not doing anything, but he can admit that he really _wasn't_ looking ahead.

That, and also, just maybe, the guy is very cute. Keith’s pop-song-tortured mind can only compute so many things at once.

Thus, he stays quiet, nods once at the guy, and then steps over to his locker.

Shiro would be so proud of him for not starting a fight. It has been known to happen.

And with that avoided, maybe, perhaps, under the right circumstances, Keith can even strike up a friendly conversation with this very attractive stranger. That would be—nice.

While he quickly takes of his karate suit, Keith can't stop himself from glancing at the handsome young man out of the corner of his eye. The guy looks to be about the same age as him, with glowing brown skin and hair just a shade darker. His blue eyes are bright and intense enough to stand out, even with the bit of distance between them. The guy is built maybe a bit slimmer than Keith himself, but there's still some definition to his body overall. And ass. Especially his ass.

Which Keith is not ogling. Not at all. It's not his fault that it's a very pretty ass in very tight jeans.

Keith can’t remember seeing this guy around the gym before. Probably a newbie, which would also explain why he's _still_ just standing there, still dressed and fidgeting from leg to leg nervously.

Maybe at this rate, he'll still be standing there by the time Keith has showered. That would be nice. Then Keith could try to talk to him again without looking like a sweaty hooligan.

Keith shucks off his suit and goes digging for the shower caddy he knows—hopes—he put in his bag earlier.

The handsome stranger behind him, maybe emboldened by Keith standing around in only his boxers, finally seems to have gathered some courage. Keith keeps glancing as the hoody and jeans come off to reveal a pair of slim black shorts. The quest for the shower caddy is momentarily halted to get a few more peeks.

It really is a very nice ass. And thighs. And back, and arms, and shoulders. This dude has definitely been working out somewhere else before. Keith doesn’t mean to be creepy, but it’s hard to _not_ appreciate that.

But the guy still looks a tad bit nervous, even as he shoves his clothes and bag into a locker and turns to leave the changing room.

Still in his underwear.

Keith whips around with all the agility of someone who’s been staring the whole time. "Hey, wait!"

Stunning blue eyes settle on him, and something flutters soft and warm in Keith's chest. His face feels a little too hot.

He may have thought about striking up another conversation with the guy, sure, but that doesn’t mean Keith has the confidence to actually do it. These extenuating circumstances are unexpected and Keith is horribly out of his depth.

"Don't forget to put on your workout clothes before you leave," he says, all in one breath because the tingling feeling is making it a little hard to talk and he does not need to embarrass himself in front of Handsome Changing Room Stranger.

After almost running the poor guy over, this needs to be a good exchange to make up for that earlier blunder. And the guy will definitely appreciate Keith's help here, because who wants to accidentally walk out into the gym naked? No one. It's understandable that it slipped his mind, though, with how nervous he looked. What a lucky coincidence that Keith was—not ogling—keeping an eye out.

Positive social interaction—complete.

But something very strange happens. The guy is not laughing it off or saying thank-you. His eyebrows rise up high, and his lips stretch into a tight, intimidating smile. "Ah, yes, _thank you_ ," he says, cold and sharp, as he stalks back to the locker and digs around in his bag.

It’s weird, and Keith kind of feels like he’s missing something. But he stopped the guy from accidentally leaving in his underwear, so that’s good, right?

However, the guy doesn’t pull pants or a shirt out of his bag. Keith watches, silent and awkward and maybe a little bit intimidated, as one hand comes out of the bag with a shoe.

And then the second hand with a second shoe.

But—”shoes” might not be the right word. Those are heels. Actual heels. _High-heels_ , in a terrifyingly true sense of the word. The plateau alone is easily 3 or 4 inches high, which is then dwarfed by the heel itself. And as if that wasn't enough, they're filled with blue glitter, which goes whirling and throwing specks of light everywhere when the guy moves to set them down. He steps into them and closes the clasps in a matter of mere seconds.

When he straightens up, he's towering over Keith by a head, and somehow, possibly by some form of magic, he’s not swaying at all. Still with that unsettlingly sharp smile in place, he hisses, "My workout clothes. I almost forgot."

The heels give a sharp _clack_ with each step as he walks away, still not swaying or stumbling or bowing to gravity in any other way as Keith very firmly expects him to. His ass, somehow, looks even better in those tight shorts than it did before.

And then the guy is gone.

Keith is alone, and not quite sure _what_ just happened.

He was just trying to help. Maybe make a new friend. _Maybe_ ask the guy out if everything went well.

This turn of events was unforeseen and he has no clue what choices in his life have led him to this, or what to do now. He knows he’s often awkward in social interactions, especially with strangers, but something like this has not happened before. Ever.

Maybe Kolivan hit him in the head during practice and this is all some weird concussion dream?

Just—heels.

Life makes no sense right now, and when that’s the case, there’s only one thing Keith can do. He heads out to talk to Shiro.

With clothes on, like a normal human being.

And without high-heels.

Shiro is still at the same machine as before, not even working out anymore but instead happily chatting away with someone else. Another stranger, and Keith would be annoyed that Shiro isn't getting finished if this new stranger wasn't also somewhat attractive, sending his poor heart into another pathetic little stutter. Added to his headache, it’s just too much. Keith has had enough of handsome strangers for today.

What if he says something to this very nicely built guy—who could probably lift him up with those amazing arms, which, _hot_ —and suddenly the guy whips out another pair of scarily high heels or starts pirouetting away after insulting him or—or something.

Keith does not have to be eloquent in his anxious thoughts when everything is confusing already.

"Hey Keith," Shiro greets him, way too brightly considering that Keith's day is spiraling into absolute chaos. "Can you believe Hunk’s been working out here for months and we always just missed each other? We’re thinking about partnering up for some stuff."

That means Shiro will take even longer from now on. _Great_. Keith swallows down his groan, if only because Shiro has been looking for a gym buddy for a while now and looks awfully happy he finally found someone. People have not exactly been eager to pair up with him ever since he lost his arm. Let it be this attractive stranger then, fine.

At least this guy is smiling like sunshine and not like he's going to slash Keith's tires with glitter heels later.

Keith holds out his hand and Hunk shakes it firmly. Very firmly. Lots of strength there, and his arm is bulging a little with every movement, and he could _definitely_ pick Keith up and carry him around like it's nothing—

Keith swallows and nods at him stiffly. "Hi. Keith."

Way to sound like a complete fool.

"Hi. Hunk," Hunk reintroduces himself, mirroring Keith's awkward fumbling with such a warm smile that it makes Keith feel a little better.

Shiro, the fiend, is smirking at him like he knows exactly how smitten Keith is right now and how much he wants to sink into the ground instead of blundering on.

Not like Shiro is any better at flirting with guys, though.

Keith runs a hand through his hair, awkwardly tucking some of it behind his ear. It feels sweaty and gross, and now in front of the second handsome stranger of the day he really regrets not showering first. "Anyway, any idea when you will be done? There was some really weird, rude guy with heels in the changing room. I think I've had enough of the gym for today."

"Oh," Hunk bounces on the balls of his feet excitedly, "that sounds like Lance!"

Yes, Keith thinks to himself. Of course. What could be worse than two handsome strangers and a weird encounter in one day? Two handsome strangers who know each other, so that his one weird encounter will seamlessly carry over into the other.

This is awful. At least now it can’t get any worse. Right?

"His pole dancing group just moved to this gym, it's why we're here today," Hunk continues explaining, making everything worse.

Keith feels the eager smile on Shiro's face before he can see it.

“Do you think we could check it out?” Shiro asks, so bright and hopeful that it has Keith swallowing down his protest. There are few things that Shiro really gets excited for. The whole notion of loud music and glitter just always seems to have been appealing to him, whereas Keith can’t claim the same for himself.

Hunk doesn’t seem to mind that Shiro wants to meet his very rude roommate who’s wearing only underwear and murder shoes. “Sure thing. I wanted to check in on them anyway.”

"Oh no," Keith says decisively. Shiro may want to, but Keith has had enough of pole dancers for one day. "I'm not going."

About a minute later, he finds himself standing in front of studio 2.

The awful music is pumping at full blast, and with a harsh throb, Keith’s headache tells him that he should not be here. Mentally, he curses Shiro, who looks like Christmas came early as he peeks through the door. Hunk is right behind him, and Keith—

Well, he doesn’t necessarily want to be here and stare at a bunch of girls and Mr Murder Shoes, but it’s got to be better than glaring at a blank wall. Right? Or so he tells himself as he also leans in, and Hunk moves a little to let him go to the front. It leaves Hunk’s warmth looming right at his back, which—um, yeah.

Keith hasn't been in studio 2 before, but from what he knows, it's just like studio 1, only a bit smaller.

It has definitely changed now, though. Eight metal poles stand in the room, stretching from floor to ceiling. Small pink towels and spray bottles are strewn about, and mats are lying on the ground. But most noticeable is the gaggle of girls sitting at the far end of the studio, caught up in an animated conversation. Some are looking at their phones, some are stuffing food into their mouths like they're starving, and some are standing around a pole, putting their hands up to it and then bowing down like it's some kind of strange ritual.

The music in the background switches, another pop song that Keith doesn't know, and Shiro is instantly humming along to it. In between the short shirts and shorter shorts, it actually takes a moment until Keith spots the guy from the changing room among them.

He's sitting next to a woman with a stunning cloud of white hair, all of it pulled up into a bun, a sharp contrast to her dark skin. Both of them are giggling maniacally, feet propped up in their heels. She’s wearing her own pair, this one adorned with vibrant pink glitter and no less terrifying. A warm smile sits curved on Mr Murder Shoe’s face as he talks to her, an expression nothing at all like the chilling stare that Keith received earlier.

More awfully high heels are lying around among the group, a few of them glittering and a few not, and some glitter made it onto the people, too. Everything is sparkling and very radiant, a bit like a scene from a movie. Keith gets why Shiro wanted to see it. It fits Shiro’s tastes really well, except maybe for the lack of men and astronomy posters.

Then a larger woman with dangling hoop earrings turns with her peel of laughter. Her eyes fall on them.

She goes very still.

Quietly, she mutters, "Oh."

And as if they are all telepathically linked to a hivemind, in a matter of seconds everyone else goes quiet and turns to stare at them as well. More “Oh”s.

The happy atmosphere from before is replaced by a very chilling one, even as one of the speakers keeps playing _“Look at her butt”_ over and over. Keith knows exactly why he doesn’t listen to this kind of music.

This is what he gets for going along with Shiro’s inane quest for glitter, knowing fully well that the universe has it out for him today.

In one fluid movement, the woman with the white hair bun gets up on her glitter heels. Each one of her steps is accompanied by a bob of her hair and a sharp _clack_ from her heels, which Keith is starting to consider a very ominous sound, especially accompanied by the dark frown on her face. Her blue eyes seem to shoot icy daggers at them, and when she gets closer even Shiro has to look up at her. There are grinning unicorns printed on her shorts and a drooling pug on her shirt, and no matter how much Keith tells himself that it’s a ridiculous outfit, it somehow doesn’t make it any less intimidating when she’s towering in front of them.

“Can I help you?” she asks, voice hard, and Shiro and Hunk both take a step backwards.

Very belatedly, Keith realizes that they, as three guys, have maneuvered themselves into a very unfortunate situation when they went to this room. That’s what he gets for not being able to say No to Shiro.

Silence ensues.

The woman stares, then blinks once, her frown deepening. “I know you,” she mutters then.

Keith doesn’t mean to sound like a coward, but he is a little relieved that she’s not looking at him.

“Uh, y-yeah,” Hunk stammers out, nervously twisting his hands. “I’m Lance’s roommate? Apartment mate. Apart-mate. Ha. We just wanted to say hi, sorry if we’re bothering you—”

“Oh, no, it’s fine,” the woman waves him off, suddenly smiling the sweetest smile imaginable. Keith is getting whiplash. She turns back to the group of people behind her and hollers, “Lance, you could have said something!”

“Uh-huh,” Mr Murder Shoes grunts from where a girl with blond pigtails has pulled him into a headlock, apparently intent on choking him out as she watches the drama unfold with an unholy grin.

This is a strange group of people, Keith decides.

The woman with the white hair steps aside and waves towards the room. “Come on in, if you want. We’re always happy when someone’s interested in what we do. Sorry for the harsh welcome, there have been a lot of assholes stopping by today.”

“No problem,” Hunk squeaks, very cautiously stepping into the studio while giving her a wide berth.

Shiro is right behind him, eyes shining with excitement and mouth quirked into an apologetic smile. “We could have said something. It must have looked kind of bad with us just standing there, sorry. I’m Shiro, by the way, and that’s Keith.”

Keith grunts in acknowledgement. He doesn’t want to be left alone in the doorway, which unfortunately leaves him with no choice but to follow them as they make their way back to the group.

“I’m Allura,” Ms Murder Heels introduces herself.

“Is it okay if we sit here for a moment to look around?” Shiro asks, a bit cautious now, even as his eyes cling to every little bit of glitter they can spot.

“We don’t usually allow onlookers during classes, so everyone can be comfortable when they practice. But we _were_ just about to show off for our newbies. You can stick around for that,” Allura explains. There’s a faint hint of gleeful anticipation to her voice, of joy and pride, and Keith—

Keith doesn’t quite get it. Why would anyone be so excited to shake their ass in front of strangers?

But he feels that it would be unwise to antagonize her or Hunk’s murder heel friend, so he keeps his mouth shut.

“Yeah, gotta show off for the newbies,” the girl with the bleached pigtails quips, finally releasing Mr Murder Heels from her grasp. She jumps—actually, literally _jumps_ —to her feet despite the scarily high chrome blue heels she’s wearing. “We want to see the amazement and raw fear in their eyes when they realize what pole dancing actually is.”

“Nyma,” Allura tuts, even as the changing room guy is snickering behind her. “We said no scaring people off.”

Nyma, apparently, sticks out her tongue and snickers. “Sure, sure. C’mon, Lance.”

Mr Murder Heels rises to give her a high-five. His infectious grin fades for a moment as he looks at Keith, lips thinning.

Keith still doesn’t know what he did wrong. He also doesn’t dare to look away, lest his gaze wander down from those blazing blue eyes to the guy’s abs and invoke more trouble, so he just glares back.

Shiro awkwardly clears his throat, shoving himself between them and pulling Keith to sit down on the floor. “Thanks for letting us watch,” he says loudly, jabbing his elbow into Keith’s side until Keith nods in agreement.

“Sure thing,” Nyma hums with a wink, as she and Lance come to stand on opposite sides of the same pole. The music that was playing in the background suddenly cuts off as Allura fiddles with her phone. A much lower, thrumming base begins to play, turned up loud enough for Keith to feel it in his bones.

His headache is not happy.

Lance and Nyma look at each other for a moment, before they both begin to move. It’s nothing but slow swivels of their hips at first, just asynchronous enough that Keith begins to wonder if they actually have a set choreography planned for this or are just winging it—in tandem, to boot.

Nyma begins to roll her body forward in a waving motion, and Lance joins in a moment later. Then Nyma turns, back to the pole, legs spread, and Lance moves in just close enough to restart the same motion over her leg. It looks a little like grinding and a lot like it shouldn’t be taking place in public.

Lance glances over his shoulder—right at him, Keith could swear—with a wink and a suggestive little smirk, which has Keith’s cheeks heating up.

He didn’t _ask_ to sit here and watch this rude—but handsome—guy roll his hips into someone else. It’s awkward and embarrassing and—maybe a little bit hot, like, what if it was Keith he was grinding on like that—but mostly it’s very uncomfortable.

The beat of the song changes slightly, and Lance pulls back in another turn. Nyma follows, both of them circling each other with increasingly complicated twists, legs kicking up, heels crashing back down on the ground with very determined _clacks_. Definitely becoming an intimidating sound. With a flourish, Lance stops to bend down, popping his ass out towards them.

Face too hot, Keith averts his eyes, catching only barely how Nyma rolls up onto his back, legs spread open to the ceiling. Two chrome blue heels circle each other, clacking together sharply, before falling open again. Keith catches it more by sound than by actively watching.

Until the beat drops, and Lance drops with it, right down into the splits. While Nyma just stays up right where she is, when by all means she should be falling down.

She doesn’t, however, still circling her legs open and closed, while Lance arches his back where he’s on the ground, half his ass peeking out of the tight, black shorts. With another knowing smirk, his eyes find Keith, and this definitely can’t be a coincidence. Keith’s heart pounds loud enough for him to hear it over the beat.

“Lance!” Allura yelps in that moment, shocked and sharp, clapping her hands to be heard over the pounding music. “You didn’t warm up!”

“Uh.” With a carefully blank face, Lance resets his previously scarily angled spine and gapes at her. “Allura, it’s fine—”

“It is not,” Allura hisses, rising up to her full high heel height. “You need to warm up! You’re setting a bad example for all the new students.”

Lance looks ready to protest that, but then wilts.

Keith is honestly surprised by that. With how much Lance snapped at _him_ for an innocent attempt at help, he definitely expected to see him arguing with Allura.

Then again, Allura does not look like someone to be argued with.

“Avert your eyes, Shay!” Allura wails dramatically. “This is not how we do things here. This is a good, honorable pole studio!”

“Uh,” the girl with the large hoop earrings mutters, sinking down on herself until she’s half-hiding behind Hunk. Keith recognizes her as the one who spotted them before.

“Sorry,” Lance calls out weakly as he clambers back to his feet. Nyma finally gets back down to the floor as well.

Allura nods, crossing her arms. “Plank,” she tells them firmly. “Two minutes.”

Lance’s groan is met with a badly concealed snicker from Nyma.

Allura fiddles with her phone once more, even as she looks over at the rest of the group. “Sorry guys,” she huffs, “no skipping warm up. Didn’t mean to cut of the show, but I’m not listening to Lance’s whining when his joints lock up again. I’ll just do my part a little sooner.”

There are several happy gasps around the room. Keith notices with some surprise that it’s mostly the more naked, toned women who are straightening up, gazing at Allura with excitement. He’s tempted to guess that these are the ones who have been doing pole dance for longer, but it makes no sense. When they have done more grinding on people themselves, why do they brighten up so much at the prospect of seeing Allura do it?

It was a little tempting to watch Lance, sure, but it has to get boring at some point. Not to mention that Keith is very gay and watching Allura dance dirty holds a lot less appeal.

At least Shiro and Hunk look equally befuddled at the anticipatory silence that has taken over the room. The three of them seem to be the only ones out of the loop, as everyone else leans forward a little when the music starts up and Allura begins walking towards the pole.

The first few notes of the song ring out, and Keith is surprised to hear that they’re soft. Slow. It’s not a club song with a heavy beat at all.

It doesn’t stop Allura from pulling off her pug shirt and throwing it away, though, leaving her in a very small sports bra which looks like it’s made out entirely of silver glitter. Keith never expected to see so much cleavage in his life, and he really doesn’t know where he should look so it doesn’t come across as rude. He’s had enough of people in scary shoes yelling at him for today.

It’s a lucky thing that she begins to spin around the pole soon enough, and the quick movement makes it harder to really take in how much of her skin is showing. Instead of coming down to the ground, Allura stays up in the air, climbing up the pole. Her legs lock around it, holding her up as she slows, twisting forward in time with the music playing.

That, unfortunately, very much brings the uncomfortable cleavage situation right back to Keith’s attention. Maybe he should bring it up to Shiro that they should leave. Allura is turning around mid-air now, bending towards the pole in a way that’s very reminiscent of Lance’s earlier grinding, and Keith really doesn't need to see that.

Except then one of Allura’s hands lets go, and Keith’s breath stops as she’s about to fall.

Which she does not. She’s grabbing back on, body twisting upside down, pink heels glittering far above her head. It’s only a second before she’s flipping herself around again, right-side up once more. Her heels click together as her legs wrap around the pole, then she swings herself backwards, back arched. Keith swears he sees her free-falling for a second, her whole body spinning around itself, but then she stops midair.

She has to hold on to the pole _somehow_ , Keith is sure of that, but hell if he knows how. Allura is certainly not stopping long enough for him to figure it out. She keeps dancing, slow one moment and then speeding up with the music the next, back twisting at impossible angles, legs falling into splits and then, somehow, even wider. Some of her moves are so slow that Keith can see her muscles bulging with the strength it has to take to hold her body up like this, and then at other times Allura is arcing so fluidly as if she’s not beholden to gravity at all.

She keeps turning around the pole, too, whenever she’s up in the air, steady and smooth like the pole is moving for her. There are moments when she comes down to the ground, but only ever for a short time before she’s up again, right-side up, upside down, then wrapping herself around the pole in a twist that Keith can’t really comprehend because to all his knowledge legs can’t be pulled up past the head, neither one way nor the other, but Allura is seamlessly shifting through both.

Bodies don’t work that way. Physics don’t, either. But Allura never falls, even when she’s spinning gracefully, only the inside of her elbow touching the pole at all while her legs pull up into the splits yet again.

It’s not only the impossible things, though. There are artful little flicks of her hands, head rolling in time with the song, and her poses have something inexplicably expressive, every arch and rolling motion somehow part of a whole story. It all looks stunning, even when Allura isn’t high up in the air.

When Allura comes to a stop on the ground, Keith can’t wait for her to start up again. But she doesn’t, and it takes a moment for Keith to realize that it’s because the song is over.

There is silence, still and surreal, time frozen as Keith blinks himself back to full awareness. His mouth feels a little dry. Maybe it was hanging open there for a while.

Something rustles, and the world comes back with a roaring wave of applause and hooting. It’s loud, too much too sudden, startling him.

It’s more startling to realize that he could have watched Allura dance forever, and never have noticed how the time passed. This was a lot more than the cheap grinding he expected.

Allura skips back up from where she was curled in on herself at the end of her dance, a bright smile on her face. She skips back up to her feet with no effort at all, and at this point Keith has seen people maneuver on these shoes so much, it’s almost a little less shocking to see than it was at the start. Almost.

Those shoes are still so high.

“Thank you, everyone,” Allura coos, her chest heaving between the words. “Now the beginners know what’s in store for them later on. Time’s running, though, and we need to get started with the next class. I hope you all brought your heels. To the rest of you, thanks for coming today, have a nice evening!”

A general rustle starts up with her words, and Shiro and Hunk finally look ready to leave. Oddly enough, Keith finds himself not as eager to get out of here as he was a few minutes ago.

He doesn’t have a choice, though, as Allura begins the official warm up. Some girls from the class trail out along with Keith’s little group, talking excitedly among themselves. Keith overhears more than a few of them wondering if what Allura did was actually humanly possible and if they can really learn it as well. He wonders the same.

When Allura did those moves, they almost looked effortless, but thinking about it rationally—there really is no way anyone should stay up in the air with only the inside of their elbow. It just makes no sense.

It was amazing to watch, though. Not that Keith will admit it to Shiro out loud.

Can Lance, rude as he is, pull off amazing moves like that, too?

As they leave the studio, Keith glances back over his shoulder for one short second. There isn’t any amazing dancing. Just Allura leading everyone through some squats, telling them to pop their asses out.

Lance does.

Keith quickly averts his eyes, cheeks hot. Those really are some awfully short shorts.

Maybe coming here wasn’t such a good idea after all. There is—something, now, fluttering maddeningly in Keith’s chest and unsettling him.

It doesn’t help that Shiro and Hunk are discussing their plans for working out together in front of him. Because Shiro didn’t finish up earlier, Keith realizes now.

Instead of going home, he’ll have to sit here and watch as Shiro does his part, which will be boring as hell. And then watch Hunk do his part, which will be—something, too. Just how much will Hunk’s muscles flex when he’s lifting weights? Will it look as tempting as the swivel of Lance’s ass just did?

Keith shakes his head to clear it.

It’s embarrassing how much he’s thinking about this. Going to the gym is supposed to help him calm down and focus. That’s what it’s always been for. Just that. Just training.

Not—not _this_.

Why does he have the bad feeling that this is about to change drastically?

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading this far! 
> 
> Since not everyone might know about the amazing tricks and spins involved in pole dancing, I picked out a few links with examples. Imagine Nyma and Lance kind of like [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wSWbxDDgUzo) in the beginning, and for Allura's dancing I used mostly [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_C0wjanN_Hc) and [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FFHPkF0sMio) as a reference.
> 
> If you want to like or reblog the pic, you can find it here on my [Tumblr](http://onyx-stars.tumblr.com/post/181059686115/emotioncatcher-tumblrs-new-tos-are-my-mortal) and [Twitter](https://twitter.com/StarsOnyx/status/1072991401594535936).  
> Also if you want to talk about literally anything regarding Voltron or this specific AU, feel free to hit me up at any time ;D


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